


Made equal by the wind

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Lyrium Addiction, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn Romance, descriptions of past psychological torture, made-up elven lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:51:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3065063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Commander and the Inquisitor are reported missing in the field, the inner circle of the Inquisition is thrown into complete disarray. By all appearances, they both seem to have vanished off the face of the earth, and not even Leliana can find their trail.</p><p>While the Inquisition throws everything it has into finding them, Cullen and Lavellan are about to discover that there are some things that should stay buried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Prologue (or, alternatively, this is how Lavellan gets from Haven to Skyhold: with a good dash of humour.)
> 
> Contains spoilers for Dragon Age: Inquisition right from the very first chapter.

‘Lavellan.’

The wind dipped and spun around her legs, moving the tail of her long coat and bringing a much needed respite from the sweltering sun. She shielded her eyes with a hand, squinting in the direction of the nearest watchtower, its newly hewn stone bricks so bright that she could easily pick it out amongst the farmland palette of greens and browns. The men and women of Redcliffe farms had done good work, she thought, but they would have to be trained – or at the very least instructed – if the watchtowers were going to be of any use to them; perhaps the Inquisition could set them up with a preliminary a guard rota – Commander Cullen could certainly-

‘ _Lady Lavellan_.’

She started out of her reverie and turned to find Cassandra frowning at her.

‘Oh, sorry,’ she said, ‘I was somewhere else.’

‘I could see that,’ said Cassandra.

‘Did you need me for something?’

‘Master Dennet has asked for a moment of our time,’ she said, beckoning Lavellan over to walk beside her down the grassy hill towards the farm. The Hinterlands seemed to have a never-ending abundance of peaks and troughs; even Lavellan, who was used to walking from dawn to dusk with her clan, was finding that her calves ached at the end of a day. ‘I am certain that he will be amenable to providing us with horses, in light of what you have done for him.’

‘What _we_ have done for him,’ Lavellan gently corrected, ‘I distinctly remember you taking out at least two angry, demonically-possessed wolves. Not to mention the Commander’s soldiers getting up those watchtowers so quickly.’

Cassandra made a small noise of agreement. ‘And that small task has no doubt done much to encourage teamwork between our soldiers. But I digress,’ she went on as Dennet’s stables came into view, ‘the Inquisition needs a proper horse-master.’

‘Dennet seems more than a little attached to his farm,’ Lavellan pointed out.

‘And his family,’ Cassandra agreed, ‘but I was hoping that you might be able to…persuade him. Appeal to his piety.’

‘As the Herald of Andraste?’

‘Yes.’

Lavellan pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, ‘do I look particularly holy today? I washed my face in ordinary water this morning - should I have gotten Mother Geiselle to bless it first? I think I left my solid gold figure of Andraste totem back at Haven, but perhaps Vivienne can create some sort of holy glow about me, although she’s really an ice ma-’

She caught sight of Cassandra’s side-long look and cut herself off, smiling a little sheepishly. The Seeker did look begrudgingly amused though, so Lavellan was awarding herself points for that, at least.

‘I think just a simple “the Herald of Andraste requires your aid” would suffice,’ said Cassandra dryly.

‘You’re probably right. And Vivienne would likely object to the misuse of her powers.’ Not to mention the First Enchanter had the remarkable ability to convey her disapproval via a single raised eyebrow. Lavellan had already been subject to the Raised Eyebrow once – she was in no hurry to see it again.

They arrived quickly at the orderly mass of buildings that made up Denent’s stables and attached outhouses, and Lavellan gladly stepped into the cool shade provided by the overhang of the stable roof, breathing in the heavy smell of horses and hay, as well as the inevitable by-product of both: manure. They met Varric at the fifth stall along – he was letting a bay mare nose at his pony tail, and as Lavellan watched she saw him slip an apple into his hand for the horse to gobble up.

‘Making friends?’ she said.

‘Don’t I always?’ Varric said with a smile and a look towards Cassandra.

‘But only through bribery, it seems,’ said Cassandra. ‘Come,’ she said to Lavellan, ‘Vivienne and Dennet are waiting for us.’

Varric fell into step with them as they crossed the stables, and as they walked Lavellan straightened her shoulders and attempted to take on an air of professionalism and leadership – the sort of thing that Cassandra seemed to exude naturally. But she needn’t have worried; Dennet, as it turned out, didn’t require any gentle reminders of his duty or mentions of the Maker’s plan to persuade him to come to Haven - all it took was a blow to his Fereldan pride. Lavellan was happy enough to step back and let Vivienne bluntly state that if Dennet wouldn’t sign-on, there were a dozen Orlesian horse masters just waiting in the wings to take his place. Dennet couldn’t change his mind fast enough.

But Vivienne’s manoeuvrings had an unexpected side-effect – Dennet then insisted that they try out his mounts.

‘Then there’ll be no more talk of those spindly _Orlesian_ beasts that pass for horses,’ he grumbled, ‘one turn around the farmlands and you’ll see the quality of these horses, my Lady Herald.’

‘I can see their quality from here,’ said Lavellan truthfully, because even someone who had spent most of her life around Halla could tell what fine horses they were. Nevertheless, Dennet continued to open stalls and summon his stable hands to saddle up three mounts. ‘They really are the _noblest_ of steeds,’ Lavellan said with a touch of desperation, even as buckles were secured and bridles arranged, ‘really, truly, I’m sure they have no _equal_ -’

‘Well, a short ride will prove that once and for all,’ said Dennet.

A stable hand offered Lavellan a set of reins, and she found herself staring up at a huge horse – sixteen hands at least - with a white nose and a dappled light brown coat. The horse snorted at her softly, as though in greeting.

‘This is Delilah,’ the young stable boy informed her.

‘Er,’ said Lavellan, taking the reins reluctantly.

‘You too, Lady Cassandra,’ said Dennet, ‘and for you, Master Dwarf, we have a pony that would suit-‘

‘I’m alright, thank you,’ said Varric with a raised hand and a half-smile, ‘riding really isn’t my thing.’

‘But it is mine,’ said Vivienne smoothly, ‘I would be delighted to take you up on your offer, Master Dennet. It has been too long since I last rode.’

‘And you, Lady Seeker?’

Cassandra’s answer was to put one foot into her horse’s stirrup and swing up and over its back. ‘I rarely get the time to ride for pleasure,’ she said, ‘but I think I could take a few minutes out of our’ – here she flicked a wry look over at Lavellan – ‘ _extremely_ busy schedule for this.’

Lavellan was still toying with her reins when she saw Dennet look up and over her shoulder.

‘Ah, Commander Cullen,’ he said, ‘the ladies are going for a ride. Would you like to join them?’

Lavellan turned, surprised, to see Cullen step into the stables. The Commander was, in spite of the heat and the hard labour he had surely been enduring all day, still in full armour, but he hardly seemed to be sweating at all, save for a light sheen over his forehead and neck. The bridge of his nose did look a little pink, though. He was also fully armed – his long sword sat on his hip and a shield was slung over his back. Lavellan didn’t blame him for his caution, because between the reports of Rifts in the area and the Mage-Templar war that was taking place practically next door, they were not in the safest place in Thedas at the moment. Lavellan’s own staff remained on her back, and she had yet to put it aside that day, even while resting.

Cullen gave them all a polite nod in greeting, before shaking his head a little in answer to Dennet’s question.

‘I merely came over to say that we have some cleaning up to do, but the bulk of the work is completed. Another hour and we’ll be moving out-‘

‘But I’m sure the Commander could put aside a few minutes to admire the Inquisition’s new horse master’s _noble_ steeds,’ said Vivienne, gently nudging her horse around so she could give Cullen a meaningful look.

Cullen slid a glance over to Lavellan and raised a wry eyebrow. ‘Of course. My lieutenant can undoubtedly oversee the work for the time being. If you have another horse to hand, Master Dennet?’

Appeased for the moment, Dennet turned to lead another horse from the stalls.

‘Are you coming, Lavellan?’ Said Cassandra. Lavellan had yet to mount her horse, and even at Cassandra’s question made no move to do so.

‘I’ll catch you up,’ said Lavellan.

‘If you _can_ , my dear,’ said Vivienne with a smile that was bordering on a grin. To Cassandra, she said, ‘race you to the first gate,’ and urged her horse forward before Cassandra could even respond.

Cassandra clucked her tongue. ‘ _Cheater_ ,’ she said with no real bite, and did the same with her own horse, kicking up a small cloud of dust in their wake.

Cullen watched them go, and had to wonder a little at their abandon. Perhaps it was the heat, he mused, or the fine day, or the fact that they all had half a moment to simply breathe and celebrate this small win for their fledgling Inquisition. His own men and women could probably do with an hour of respite before they set off to Haven, too, he thought. They certainly deserved it after all their hard work. In his own mind, he began to draw up a list of what needed to be done when he returned to Haven - or perhaps even on the way back, depending on how the road treated them - there had been three Redcliffe farm hands who were eager to sign up for the Inquisition, and their skill levels would need to be assessed before he could decide what training group to put them in.

‘This is Rusty,’ said a be-freckled stable girl, presenting Cullen with his horse.

‘Hello, Rusty,’ said Cullen, patting the horse’s red-brown shoulder and climbing on as quickly as he could in full armour.

Lavellan was still stood by her horse. Cullen was struck, suddenly, by the fact that she was considerably shorter than both Vivienne and Cassandra – was she finding it difficult to get on? Cullen cast a look about the stables – Varric and Dennet were chatting a short distance away, and the stable hands had resumed their duties. Still, when he spoke, he lowered his voice so they wouldn’t be overheard.

‘Are you having some trouble finding a footing?’ he asked.

‘No, Commander,’ she replied with a shake of the head, ‘it’s not her height that’s the problem.’

Cullen paused, and then said, very carefully, ‘can you…can you not ride?’

But his question garnered a small laugh. ‘No, of course I can ride,’ she said without reproach, ‘when you’re Dalish you’re put on a Halla almost as soon as you learn to walk.’ She visibly hesitated, shooting him a side-long look, before admitting, ‘it’s just a little strange, to be honest. I’ve never ridden a horse before.’

‘Are they that different?’

‘The reins are…different, for a start,’ she said, ‘and we don’t just…go ahead and get on them without saying hello first, and requesting to be carried.’

Cullen blinked. ‘You…ask if you can ride them?’ he repeated.

‘Well, yes. Like so-‘ Lavellan turned to her horse and said, ‘ _aneth ara_ ,’ followed by another phrase in Elvish Cullen didn’t recognise. She then put one foot to the stirrup nearest to her and swung up easily onto the horse. She looked comfortable enough in the saddle, and, problem apparently solved, Cullen turned his horse around to point towards the stables entrance, gently nudging his heels into the horse’s sides to urge him forwards into a walk.

Lavellan did not follow on. Cullen pulled up on his reins and looked back over his shoulder to find that Lavellan was staring at his feet.

‘Are you…are you alright?’ he said, wondering what could possibly be wrong now.

‘Ah, well,’ Lavellan started, clearly embarrassed to still be standing stock-still on her horse in the middle of the stables. ‘The thing is, we don’t – I mean, the Dalish don’t tend to _kick_ their horses.’

‘It’s not exactly a kick-‘ Cullen started.

‘It _looks_ like a kick.’

‘It more like a nudge-‘

‘It’s like asking someone to give you a piggy back and them kicking them up the arse to get them to walk,’ Lavellan said in a rush.

Cullen paused, considering her with raised eyebrows. He’d heard talk, of course, about Halla being so-called “friends” of the Dalish, about the Halla choosing to pull the Dalish’s caravans – everyone had, but Cullen had merely thought it all exaggeration. It was the sort of thing that was met with either derision or laughter whenever it was spoken about amongst humans, brought up whenever the conversation was flagging and in need of a topic to fill the silence. Looking at Lavellan now, though, he could see that there had been more than a dash of truth to all the talk.

He turned his horse about so that he was parallel to Lavellan once more.

‘How do you command the Halla, then?’

‘We talk to them, and we don’t command – we ask,’ she said a touch defensively. ‘Half the time we just let them go where they want – they’re better than us at picking out a path in the forest.’

‘You won’t hurt her, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘A kick to the side won’t hurt?’ she said dubiously.

‘They’re very thick-skinned. There’s a lot of muscle under that coat – think of it as more like someone tapping you on the shoulder and pointing you in the right direction, rather than – how did you put it? – “a kick up the arse”.’

She had to hide a smile at that.

‘I promise she won’t mind,’ Cullen went on, ‘you could try voice commands but she’s not been trained that way – and I doubt she’d understand them anyway. I don’t think horses are as bright as Halla, if what you say is true.’

Lavellan gave a mock gasp, dropping the reins to cover up Delilah’s twitching ears with her hands.

‘Don’t listen to him, Delilah! I’m sure you’re a _very_ smart horse.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Alright then, Commander. Let’s give this a go.’

Very gingerly, and with the utmost care, Lavellan put her heels to Delilah’s sides. Delilah obligingly began to walk forwards, before stopping after a few paces.

‘Excellent,’ said Cullen, ‘by this rate we might even get out of the stables by nightfall.’

Lavellan shot him a surprised, amused look, shaking her head a little. ‘One day, Commander,’ she said, ‘you’ll have to ride a Halla, and _then_ we’ll see who’s confused.’

‘I don’t think they’d be able to take my weight in full armour, with a shield and sword on my back,’ said Cullen, considering it seriously. He’d seen untamed Halla in the wild, and while they were a good size, they didn’t look like they could carry anything heavier than the harnesses the Dalish put on them to pull their aravels.

Lavellan nudged Delilah forwards into a walk, this time with more success, and Cullen followed on behind her, directing his horse down the rough path that lead around the circumference of the farms.

‘Oh, I think you’d be surprised,’ said Lavellan over her shoulder, ‘they’re much stronger than they look. Much like the Dalish, I suppose.’

‘That might be true,’ said Cullen, his mind drifting back against his will to the chaotic days after the conclave explosion; he'd had barely any time to breathe in the aftermath, let alone appease his curiosity and check in on the criminal that had apparently caused it all, but one evening he had been looking for Cassandra and had been told the Seeker was checking up on the prisoner - they hadn't known Lavellan's name, at the time. The impression of medicine sitting heavy in the air and a small, still figure under a pile of blankets, as still as death, had stayed with him, one sharp image that stood out amongst the days that had seemed to blend together, tumbling into each other as Cullen and the others desperately tried to bring together their shattered forces and find a way forwards. Seeing Lavellan now, an easy smile on her face, eyes narrowed against the bright glare of the sun, it was hard to believe that she was the same person that had laid in that cot, kept alive only through Solas’ careful ministrations. Odd to think that that had only been a few weeks ago.

‘Oh!’ said Lavellan, leaning back in her saddle with her head thrown back to look at the sky. ‘Look!’ she said to Cullen, ‘a goshawk!’

Cullen craned his head to look in the direction she was pointing, and spotted a dark shadow hovering in the endless blue of the sky, its outline silhouetted against the sun.

‘How can you tell it’s a goshawk?’ he asked. The most Cullen would have been able to say about it was that it was a bird of prey, judging by its size.

‘The tail, the shape of the wings. And it’s hovering, for one thing. They do that – just hover there, waiting for their moment to strike. Waiting for their prey to come out into the open.’ She gave a small hum of thought. ‘I think it’s an adult male.’

She caught Cullen’s look and gave a small shrug. ‘It’s a hobby. My little brother and i used to make a game of it. Travelling from place to place can be very boring, so we used to play games to pass the time.’

‘What are the rules?’

‘It’s very simple. You see a bird and you shout its name out at the top of your lungs - the louder the better. If you get it right, you get points. If it's a particularly rare bird, you get more points.’

‘I bet the adults loved that.’

She gave him a quick grin. ‘They thought it was _wonderful ._ I may or may not have added another rule that if you made someone spill their drink in the process you got ten points.’

He didn’t smile, but his eyes creased in a way that made her think he was even if he didn’t move his lips. A few Druffalo in a neighbouring field picked up their heads as she and Cullen passed, and a couple of them grumbled an idle warning, too lazy to do anything but watch them suspiciously.

‘No sign of the other two,’ Lavellan said with a sigh, ‘I suspect they’re back at the stables now. But that’s okay, isn’t it Delilah? We’ll go at our own pace.’ She flicked her eyes up to Cullen, considering him for a moment.

‘You do realise we’ve gone a whole five minutes without talking about the Inquisition, our next move, or anything to do with Rifts,’ she said, and then added quickly, ‘not that I want to steer the conversation back in that direction by any means.’

She’d meant it as a jest, but in dismay she watched as the lightness that had been about Cullen’s shoulders vanished in an instant, and she wished she could take back her words.

‘Yes,’ said Cullen, ‘you’re right. I should return to work soon. We’ve finished the watch towers but I’m still concerned about reports of Apostates and Templar factions in the area – we’ll have to hope that the threat of retribution from the Inquisition will be enough for the moment to-‘

‘GOSHAWK!’Lavellan shouted at the top of her lungs.

Cullen visibly startled, his right hand going to his long sword on instinct. His horse flinched in surprise, both at the sound and his rider’s sudden movement, but Cullen was a good rider, and reined his horse in before it could panic.

He looked at her incredulously. ‘What, in the name of the _Maker_ -‘

‘Goshawk,’ said Lavellan again breezily, pointing upwards to the still-hovering shape of the bird. ‘I claim my five points.’

Cullen looked a little lost for words, so she continued, ‘we were doing so _well_. Commander, it’s a lovely day, your forces have completed their task in double time and we are riding the finest mounts in all of Ferelden…not including Halla, of course. I think we can avoid talk of the Inquisition for the moment. I’ll even give it my blessing as Herald.’ She attempted to mimic the hand-waving blessing that reverend Mothers used, accompanied by an appropriately pious expression.

Lavellan held Cullen’s gaze as he relaxed once more, and it was a good thing too - otherwise she would have missed the slow smile spreading across Cullen’s face.

‘Alright then,’ he said slowly. Wonder of wonders, Lavellan thought, he was _still_ smiling. She didn't think she'd seen him smile at all in the course of their short acquaintance. ‘No talk of work.’ He gave a small chuckle, ‘perhaps that can be our word for when things are getting too serious.’

‘What, goshawk?’ Lavellan said, laughing. ‘Alright, but you get a _hundred_ points if you shout it out when we’re all around the War Table-‘

‘Definitely not-‘

‘And _three hundred_ if Cassandra is present when you do it.’

Cullen had to turn his head a little to hide his smile and Lavellan tried to ignore the way her heart leapt up in her chest in response. Overhead, the goshawk banked and turned, still searching for something to hunt, and Lavellan steered the conversation towards talk of birds, and breeds of birds, and then - as was quite natural in the presence of a Fereldan - to the virtues of dogs, chatting easily until her heartbeat was no longer racing away from her.

 _Don’t_ , she told herself firmly as they talked. She balled her left hand up into a fist, the leather of her gloves creaking from the strain. She knew, if she were to take them off, her knuckles would be pale from how hard she was clenching her fist, and a small green glow would be about her fingers from the Mark. Her magic flared a little in response to her agitation, and she clamped down on it hard before Cullen could notice. _Don’t think of it_ , she thought, _put it aside_. Put it in a box at the back of her mind, along with a hundred other things she tried not to think about on a daily basis.

The road narrowed a little, and Cullen and his horse went first. As they moved ahead, sunlight glinted off his shield, setting the mark embossed on it alight; a sword, pointed downwards, surrounded by tongues of flame.

Lavellan’s stomach contracted even as she smiled in answer to one of Cullen’s questions.

 _Don’t think of it_.

Above them, the patient goshawk had at last spotted its prey. It twisted in the air and dove, a dark shape plummeting towards the earth.

 

 

 

There were no birds to watch her progress now, no birdsong to lift her spirits and remind her of home. If there was anything alive in this desolate landscape, Lavellan couldn't see it.

With fierce gales tearing at Lavellan’s clothes and every inch of her exposed skin, with snow dragging her every step, she took comfort from that one sunlit day in the Hinterlands, as though the memory of sunlight alone could warm her frozen body. The recollection of that day crowded up against the forefront of her mind, layered over a dozen other feelings and memories, each as fragile as bubbles – her brother’s smile, her mother’s calloused hands, her father’s laughter, the way her friend Thame hugged her so hard she would be lifted off of her feet, the last time they had all been together beneath the star-lit sky – and Lavellan kept them there through force of will, like holding her hands around a candle’s flame, to ward off the feel of snow and ice and wind.

 _Keep going_ , she told herself. Her hands kept drifting towards her back, to where her staff should be, but the strap that usually held it in place was empty, flapping uselessly against her back in the wind. She couldn’t recall when it had been lost exactly – probably somewhere between being thrown to the frozen ground and confronting Corypheus. She knew it was gone, and yet over and over she would repeat the motion. That staff had been a gift from her Keeper, but now she was certain it was either burnt to ashes or else buried under a mountain’s worth of snow, along with everyone they had left behind. The thought of Haven and its fate brought the taste of ash to the back of her throat, sapping all moisture from her mouth.

 _There’s a campfire just around the corner_ , she lied to her frozen limbs. _A warm bed is just two steps away_ , she told her numb legs. She managed a few more steps and counted it a victory.

It was hard to breathe; she would try to draw air past her dry lips and it would be stolen in an instant by the howling wind. She couldn’t feel her fingers – the Mark, or Anchor, or whatever it was, had been quietened by the cold and her own exhaustion, and in any other situation she would be thankful for the change.

Dimly, she noticed that there was a red glow leeching out onto the snow ahead of her, like a mini sunrise, the only dash of colour in the bleak landscape, and for a moment Lavellan thought she was hallucinating. She stood, swaying in place and knee-deep in snow, staring at the light, but the glow did not vanish from one blink to the next, but instead turned bright gold and began to move towards her.

 _Lanterns_. The thought drifted slowly through her mind. She belatedly realised that she had fallen to her knees. Voices drifted by overhead, but they were muffled, as though she were hearing them from a great distance.

‘It’s alright,’ said one, ‘we’ve got you,’ and it took her a few seconds to understand the meaning of the words.

 _Oh good_ , she wanted to say, _because I’d really like to sleep now_.

Whatever strength had kept her going until that moment vanished. She tipped forwards, and the snow rushed up to meet her, but there were more than one set of hands to catch her.

When she next woke, she had a moment of utter disconnect when her eyes registered the warm light of a lantern and her ears caught the distant sound of murmuring wind. Her stomach sank in weary despair. Was she still out there, on the mountainside? Had she been so desperate or so near death that she had imagined her rescue? But some sense had returned to her limbs in the few, sparse moments she had been awake, and she could now feel a heavy blanket over her, a soft bed below her, and as her eyes focused she could make out the rough material of the awning above, moving slightly from the force of the winds rushing by outside.

There was someone sat by her bed. Fighting off the intoxicating lull of sleep for the moment, she smiled and said, ‘I saw an archdemon. I think that nets me at least twenty points.’

The Commander turned, and she had the vague impression that he was smiling, although she didn’t know how she could tell.

‘I do believe you’re making this up as you go along,’ he said quietly.

‘Of course I am,’ said Lavellan, her voice softened by exhaustion, ‘but please don’t tell anyone.’

‘Cross my heart,’ said Cullen, and his words followed her down into the dark of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: most of this story takes place before 'Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts' and before the Adamant fortress part of 'Here Lies the Abyss'.
> 
> Thank you to the lovely serahcullen for the beta!

If there was one thing Lavellan could say about the Inquisition, it was that they certainly liked to keep her on her toes.

‘Your Worship,’ said an Inquisition soldier as she passed, and Lavellan acknowledged the greeting with a nod and a smile. The soldier snapped out a salute smoothly – probably not one of their new recruits, then.

The title of Inquisitor was new enough still that it caused her to pause every time she heard it. Before, at Haven, she had only just started to get used to being called Lavellan, but now it was “your Worship”, and sometimes, “Lady Inquisitor”, or, for old time’s sake, “my Lady Herald”. Being called Lavellan had been strange enough, as though she were representing her entire clan; her people had never seen the need for surnames, not when they lived in such close quarters that everyone knew who everyone else was, or at least knew you by association with your father, or your sister, or your cousin.

Lavellan crossed Skyhold’s courtyard and made her way up the great stones steps and into the main hall. Now that she thought about it, she couldn’t remember the last time someone had called her by her given name. As if he were reinforcing her point, an Inquisition scout said, ‘Your worship,’politely as Lavellan opened the door to the library.

 _Not Your Worship,_ she wanted to say, _not the Herald - just Ava._

The librarians would probably tut at her for tramping her muddy boots all over the carpet, but the letter in her hand was too urgent, in her mind, to worry about their disapproval. She marched straight up the stairs, past the rows of books, to one particular nook she knew Dorian would holed up in at this time of day.

And she was right - as she rounded the last stack of books, she found Dorian sat in his favourite chair, so deeply absorbed by the book in his hand that he didn’t register her approach. Lavellan noticed with no little amount of amusement that, in the soft, fading light of the sun, amongst stacks of dusty books and offset by the elegant window behind him, Dorian looked like a painting by one of those Orlesian Masters that all the nobles seemed so desperate to hang in their villas. She was almost loath to disrupt the tranquil scene, but needs must.

‘Hello, Dorian. Good book?’

Dorian jumped, but only a little.

‘If you keep sneaking up on me like that, I can’t guarantee I won’t respond with a fireball to your face one of these days,’ he said, looking up at her, his eyes flickering to the staff on her back and then down to her boots. ‘Have you only just gotten in? You’ve not even taken off your shoes-‘

‘I had to come and see you straight away.’

‘Well I suppose that’s flattering. I am marvellous company, after all, and I’m sure you’ve missed me.’ Dorian craned his neck a little to look behind her. ‘You’ve made a little trail of mud all the way from the door,’ he said mildly, ‘what’s so urgent that you’d risk the wrath of our librarians to come and see me without even taking off your boots first?’

‘It’s only a little mud,’ muttered Lavellan, taking the chair opposite Dorian and nearly upsetting a stack of books as she sat down. Dorian hurriedly moved them out of the range of her offending boots. ‘Anyway, this was urgent. It couldn’t wait.’

‘It couldn’t wait or _you_ couldn’t wait?’ said Dorian.

Lavellan ignored him. They’d only known each other for two months now and already he knew her far too well.

‘What do you think of this?’ she said, handing him a thick sheet of parchment.

Dorian took it, eyebrows rising. ‘Well, it appears to be a very crude drawing of a peni-‘

Lavellan let out a little puff of air between her teeth and reached over to turn the page over. That was the last time she let Sera anywhere near her bag.

‘Oh,’ said Dorian, his eyebrows lowering when he saw the writing. ‘I see. How many?’

‘A dozen. Two mages, and the rest were soldiers.’

‘A dozen Venatori and you didn’t invite little old _me_?’

‘Sorry,’ said Lavellan, and she meant it, ‘I had no idea they were going to be there. We’d had no reports of Venatori activity in the area, otherwise you know I would have brought you.’ She huffed a laugh, ‘it was just a simple fetch mission, but we got a bit lost and ran in to them by luck.’

Dorian frowned at the paper, his eyes scanning the first few lines. Lavellan had a feeling she had lost his attention entirely, but she continued anyway.

‘I’m not joking, we actually _ran into them_ ,’she said, ‘I think Sera tripped over one, and I’m not going to let her forget that anytime soon. I don’t know how the soldiers didn’t hear us coming. I would have recommended that they get better trained guards but, well.’ She grimaced. ‘They’re all dead now.’

‘Good,’ said Dorian, proving that Lavellan hadn’t lost his attention entirely.

‘Well, what is it? Don’t leave me in suspense, here. Did I pick up anything useful, or is it just a recipe for rabbit stew?’

‘It might be…something,’ said Dorian hesitantly. ‘Were you able to get anything else, or was this it?’

‘That’s all I could salvage. One of the mages was throwing fire everywhere, I think he was trying to destroy the evidence,’ she said with a small hum. ‘Or at least that’s what I think he was doing. No one’s aim is that bad.’

‘Oh, really?’ said Dorian, ‘because I distinctly remember someone almost nearly electrocuting me last week because they couldn’t hit their mark. A mark that was _six feet_ away.’

‘It was not six feet, and that was different,’ protested Lavellan, ‘I still haven’t gotten used to this new staff Dagna gave me. Her upgrades are…alarmingly good. It’s been difficult to readjust how much power is needed for some of my spells. You should go and see her sometime, I bet she’d have some suggestions for your staff, Dorian.’

‘Not a chance,’ Dorian said with a sniff, ‘that staff is _priceless_. I’ll have you know it was-’

‘-made by the greatest staff maker ever to have graced us lowly mortals with his presence, and after he finished the staff and downed his tools he wept because he’d never again make anything else so beautiful,’ completed Lavellan impatiently. ‘Yes, _yes_. The _letter_. What does it say?’

Dorian gave her a withering look, but clearly whatever was in the letter was enough to take precedence over the defense of his staff’s provenance, because he said,

‘You weren’t far off about the rabbit recipe, actually. It looks like a requisition for supplies.’

Lavellan’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.

‘ _But_ ,’ Dorian went on, ‘there’s a little phrase here, right at the bottom, that has me wondering if it’s connected to the other letters you’ve been finding.’

‘Oh?’ said Lavellan, cautiously hopeful.

‘Yes,’ said Dorian, ‘right here, where they’re signing off, it says, “ _may you walk where the sun will never roam_.”’

‘That’s…odd?’

‘It’s an odd sentiment, certainly. But I don’t think it’s a sign-off, I think it might be a line from a poem. The one we found last month said, “ _between a starless dome and the ghost that knows you best_ ”.’

‘Which was _very_ odd.’

‘Very. And the one before that said, “ _to the place my heart now rests_ _”_.’

‘And we just thought it was a homesick Magister,’ said Lavellan, ‘but what are you saying now, that they’re reciting poetry?’

‘Think about it,’ said Dorian, leaning forwards in his chair and warming to his subject, his handsome face lit with excitement, ‘they know we’re on their trail. What better way to mask what they’re doing than to recite very obscure poetry?’

‘You think it’s possible?’

‘I think it’s very likely,’ Dorian said.

‘But how would they even know what poem they were referring to?’

‘If there’s one advantage to my upbringing,’ said Dorian, ‘it’s education. You should understand that when I say that, I don’t mean it lightly. We are schooled to within an inch of our lives - it’s not just the done thing, it’s an _advantage_. Knowledge is power in Tevinter, and the more obscure the better.’

‘And that includes poetry?’

‘Certainly. It’s not unknown for mages to leave their secrets in the most ridiculous of places, you know, especially when you’re paranoid. It’s not wise to leave your notes on your research just lying around where anyone can find them. And look, here,’ said Dorian, pointing to the bottom of the page, ‘it’s signed with the same name as the others: Aelius Gallus.’

‘How likely is it that they’ve all got the same name?’

‘Very unlikely. Doubly so because Aelius Gallus is the name of a rather famous biographer. Over several – _several_ – volumes, he recounted the lives and works of Magisters within his lifetime, including the life of our dear poet, here.’

‘So even if they didn’t know this poem, they’d recognise the name and know to look it up?’

‘Precisely.’

’Alright, so, there’s a good chance they all know this poem – or how to get a hold of it - but where does that lead us?’ Lavellan said, rubbing her forehead with a gloved hand. Perhaps she should have tried to get some rest before she’d started this conversation. ‘The one we found last month mentioned Elven ruins - vaguely. Is that still a possibility?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Dorian, ‘if I’m right and they are quoting from this particular poem, then it might mean they’re looking for something that predates the Tevinter Imperium - and therefore Elven.’

Lavellan looked away, out of the window, and tried not to get her hopes up. She’d learnt never to let her own desires distort what information was to hand, simply because she wanted a certain outcome. She needed more information before she could make any decisions, or begin to feel even the slightest bit optimistic over the possibility of discovering some hither-to unknown Elven treasure.

‘If it is a poem, none of the lines so far have mentioned Elven ruins,’ she pointed out.

‘No,’agreed Dorian, a slow smile spreading across his face, ‘but if you knew about the poet’s life, as I do, you would know that this particular gentleman went mad searching for Elven ruins, wrote a few lines of terrible poetry, and vanished off of the face of the earth.’

‘So you think they’ve found something?’

‘There’s a good chance.’

‘Then we’d better move quickly,’said Lavellan, pressing the fingers of her right hand to her mouth, mind racing with strategies and practicalities that would need to be put in place.

Dorian tapped her gently on the nose with his book. ‘If you’ll take my advice,’ he said, ‘it’ll wait ‘till morning. You look dead on your feet and in no shape to be running off anywhere. And besides, I need time to confirm my hypothesis - I haven’t read this fellow’s work in _years,_ and I want to be certain if you think we should move on this. If you haven’t sent the librarians into a fit, I’ll need their help, too, to dig out some dusty tomes.’

Lavellan gave him a wry smile. ‘Defeating the Venatori with a library,’ she said, ‘now _that_ _’_ _s_ a sentiment I can get behind.’A lot less bloodshed, she thought.

‘I doubt Maryden will be composing verses about it anytime soon,’ said Dorian.

‘Do you need any help?’

Dorian waved a hand and shook his head. Lavellan could almost see his sharp mind at work, already drawing up lists of books and resources. ‘Thank you, but no,’ he said, ‘I can manage this myself - I know exactly what I’ll need. You, meanwhile, need to get some _rest_. You look like you’re about to fall over into Maye’s encyclopaedia of desert carnivores.’

‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ said Lavellan with a smile, although she was exhausted, now that Dorian had mentioned it. ‘I’m the Inquisitor, I’ll have you know.’

‘Well the Inquisitor can take herself off to bed and stop cluttering up the place.’

‘Insubordination,’ she said, ‘I could have you court-martialled for that. I think.’She swallowed a yawn and admitted defeat. ‘But you may be right. Do you think you’ll be in a position to present your findings at a War Council tomorrow morning?’

‘You really do want to get started on this, don’t you?’

Lavellan lifted one shoulder in a shrug. ‘If it’s Elven, I want to get there before the Venatori, and not just because I don’t want whatever they’re looking for to fall into the wrong hands. To fall into _Corypheus_ ’hands. It’s…we’re potentially talking about my people’s heritage, here. Whatever’s left of it.’

‘I know,’ said Dorian gently, ‘and I’ll be ready with a report in the morning, on one condition.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That you take me this time. Non-negotiable.’

‘Done.’ She’d been planning on taking Dorian anyway.

‘Good. Now, to bed with you! Some of us have work to do, you know.’

 

 

 

Not for the first time, Cullen woke up with a piece of paper stuck to his cheek.

Grimacing a little, he pulled it off, hoping that no ink had been left on his skin. The pale, weak light filtering in through his bedroom window (not to mention the hole in his roof) informed him that the sun had just begun to rise and that so, too, should he.

He sat up and gathered the papers on his bed together into a bundle. What had he been looking at last night? He turned one page the right way up and read the first line. _Recommendation for a list of rules for barracks in Keeps are as follows_ , it said. No wonder he had fallen asleep on it.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Cullen started to go about his morning routine. By the time he started to put on his armour - thank goodness he’d at least taken that off before he’d gotten in bed - a faint ache had sprung up at his temples. He ignored it in favour of venturing downstairs to his office and putting the papers he had used as a pillow on his desk, along with all the other sheaves of parchment that were waiting to be read. He could’ve sworn the pile was smaller yesterday when he’d finally blown out the lantern and gone to bed.

He was just contemplating getting a fire going in the small fireplace so that he could make some tea when there was a knock on his door. Cullen glanced out of the window - the sun had yet to break free of the horizon. His Lieutenant was always on time.

‘Come in,’ he called.

‘Commander,’ said Lieutenant Izrath as she entered, closing the door and giving him a salute.

‘Good morning, Lieutenant,’ said Cullen, ‘ready for this morning’s training?’

‘Of course, Commander. Whether or not the new recruits are ready is another matter.’

‘Yes,’ said Cullen, ‘being roused at dawn by someone yelling at you will be a short, sharp shock to the system, I imagine.’

‘If they didn’t snore so loudly, I wouldn’t need to shout, Ser,’ said Izrath blandly, but Cullen had been around her long enough now to see the amusement in her dark grey eyes.

‘I agree completely, but shouting blood-curdling Qunari war-cries at the top of your lungs may a bit much,’ said Cullen without a hint of reproach.

‘Not war-cries, Ser I’m only saying good morning in the Qunari tongue.’

Cullen shook his head. ‘Whatever it is you’re saying, I can’t deny its effectiveness.’ He’d never seen new recruits move so fast without the application of a pail of ice water.

Izrath had been a surprise. The Inquisition had only a handful of Qunari in their ranks - not including the Iron Bull - few enough that Cullen could count them on one hand, and most of them had joined after Haven. Izrath, though, had marched up to Haven’s front door just too weeks after the conclave explosion. Back then there had still been so few of them that Leliana - or one of her scouts - had been able to vet every new sign-up, trying to weed out potential spies, and Izrath had been unusual enough that Leliana herself had vetted her. When asked why she wanted to join the Inquisition, Izrath had simply replied, ‘your cause is just,’ and said no more. Leliana had found no ulterior motive, as far as Cullen knew, and that had been good enough for him. Besides, Izrath had proven herself not only a capable warrior, but an excellent Lieutenant as well. Nothing seemed to phase that calm, even demeanour, and Cullen had overheard a few of his soldiers taking bets on which was more likely - Izrath smiling or Corypheus giving up and going back to wherever he had come from. Cullen had personally seen Izrath smile twice, but he wasn’t going to tell his soldiers that.

Cullen was about to ask if there were any reports from the dawn guard shift when the door opened again and Lavellan walked through.

‘Inquisitor,’ said Cullen, rising from his chair, ‘good morning.’

Lavellan sighed. ‘I forgot to knock again, didn’t I? Sorry. Good morning Commander, morning Lieutenant.’

‘Good morning, Your Worship,’ said Izrath.

‘What can we do for you?’

‘I was wondering if you’re free for a War Council meeting in a couple of hours?’ said Lavellan.

‘Of course,’ Cullen said. ‘I can make myself free now, if it’s urgent.’

‘Oh, no, that’s not necessary. Besides, it’d mean waking Dorian up before he’s good and ready, and that’s one wakeup call I don’t really want to risk. I heard that the last person to rouse him at dawn had his eyebrows burnt off.’

‘I can have Lieutenant Izrath say good morning to him, if you like,’ said Cullen dryly, ‘it’s very effective on the recruits.’

‘I would be pleased to offer assistance in this matter, Your Worship,’ Izrath said gravely.

Lavellan wrestled visibly with a smile. ‘As much as I would love to see that one day, I’ll have to decline, but thank you.’ To Cullen, she said, ‘is nine o’clock alright with you?’

‘That would be fine, Inquisitor.’

He saw her frown at that - fleetingly, but Cullen caught it all the same.

‘Alright, good.’ She brought up a gloved hand in farewell. ‘I’ll see you around the War Table, then.’

‘Goodbye, Inquisitor.’

‘Goodbye, Your Worship.’

The door clicked shut behind her, and Cullen turned to Izrath to ask about the report from the guards. After the Inquisitor had taken her leave, it occurred to Izrath - but never to Cullen - that Lavellan could have simply sent a messenger in her place.

 

 

 

Dorian’s research had paid off. At nine o’clock in the morning, they convened around the War Table and Dorian said his piece to the Inquisitor’s advisors.

‘I’m certain of it, now,’ he said, ‘they’ve found something, and it has to be big enough that they won’t dare putting it down on paper, or even talk around it. And that in itself is telling - they’ve never been afraid to put orders down on paper, or their movements.’

‘What did you find?’ said Lavellan.

‘I’ll give you the shorthand version of it, because - trust me - to tell the entire story would take all day. There was once a Magister called Grattius, who died two hundred years ago. He was, by all accounts, quite the genius, in his own very specialised little field of botany-based magic. He was also a bit of a hobby historian - _very_ interested in ancient Elven ruins. He had it all - he was a magister, he had good standing, he had married well…and one day he apparently went mad, gave it all up, and marched halfway across Thedas and straight into the wilds, never to be seen or heard from again.’

‘And the…poetry?’ said Cullen dubiously.

‘The last thing he ever wrote was a few lines of poetry - if you can call it that - left behind in one of his many, many notebooks on Elven ruins. First and last attempt at poetry, thank goodness.’

‘Where did he disappear?’ asked Lavellan.

Instead of answering, Dorian reached over to tap the map laid out on the table. His finger rested just to the left of where the Frostback Mountains converged with the Waking Sea. ‘There. If the Venatori are heading anywhere, it’s there. I’ll bet my life on it.’

‘But there’s nothing there,’ said Cullen, frowning at the place Dorian had picked out, ‘it’s all forest and farmland, until you hit the Waking Sea.’

‘Do we have any reports of Venatori activity in the area?’ Lavellan asked of Leliana.

‘Two days ago, I would have said no, but now I am not so sure,’said the spy-master. ‘I have received reports of Venatori moving west; my scouts have even sighted some in Lake Calenhad. They are making efforts to remain unseen, but my scouts were certain these were Venatori. Dorian’s theory also aligns with what little we know of their aims - that they are looking for Elven ruins, and Elven artefacts.’

‘And the page the Inquisitor managed to save for me outlined a requisition for supplies. A _lot_ of supplies,’ said Dorian. ‘Enough for a fair few men and women.’

‘Enough for a larger operation than what we’ve seen so far?’ prompted Cullen.

‘Certainly,’ said Dorian.

‘I’d like to take a look at that requisition, if you have time to translate it.’

‘I’ll send a translation over to you as soon as I'm able.'

‘What was this Magister looking for, specifically?’ said Josephine.

‘A lost city. That’s all I know, I’m afraid. From what his biographer later noted down, I think he was heading towards an ancient Tevinter outpost, or thereabouts. He visited the area several times during his lifetime, and made notes of this abandoned outpost. That was his starting point. If we have any more specific maps of that area, I can narrow it down further.’

‘I understand this isn’t much to go on,’ said Lavellan, ‘but we must consider the possibility that if the Venatori _have_ found something, then we need to get there before they do.’

‘I have contacts in that area. I could see if they have any knowledge of an old Tevinter outpost,’ suggested Josephine. ‘It would be a start, at least.’

‘If you could get in touch with them, that would certainly help,’ said Lavellan, ‘but I want to move on this soon. It’s going to take us a while to get from Skyhold to here, and I don’t want too much of a delay while we wait on the possibility of more information.’

‘What are you suggesting, Inquisitor?’ said Cullen.

‘I’m thinking a small group, perhaps me and a few others, travel north as inconspicuously as we can and see if we can spot anything.’

‘Would you not consider using scouts instead?’ said Leliana.

‘If we have any in that region, we can have them on alert for signs of Venatori. They can pass word on to us as we move north. But I’d rather go myself - with Dorian too. We have the knowledge to know exactly what it is we’re looking for.’

‘And what if this guess turns out to be right?’ said Cullen, frowning and shaking his head, ‘what if you get there, and the Venatori _are_ after whatever is in this location? If this is as big as we think it might be, the Venatori will not send one or two mages to claim it. They’ll move in force, with as many as they can muster. You’ll be stuck in the wilds with no allies to fall back on and no support.’

‘Always thinking of the absolute worst-case scenario, Commander,’ teased Leliana.

‘Because I have to,’ said Cullen.

‘The Commander’s right, though,’ put in Lavellan. ‘We’ve no camps that far north.’ She looked up at Cullen, locking gazes with him over the expanse of the table. ‘What would you advise?’

It was Cullen’s turn to tap the map. ‘I would advise a distraction, of sorts,’ he said. ‘A reason to send some of our troops north, to a town nearby. We march in small enough numbers to be manoeuvrable, but large enough for anyone in the area to take notice. I’ll even head up the force myself. With any luck, the Venatori will be focused on us instead of you. And if they _do_ take notice of you, then you’ll have back-up within relatively easy reach.’

‘I’m sure we can event a reason easily enough,’ said Leliana. ‘Leave that to Josie and I.’

‘I have a few ideas already,’ Josephine said, pressing an ink-stained finger to her lips, ‘we’re in high demand at the moment - our soldiers seem to be the only ones that people trust right now. We can work with that.’

‘All this over some terrible poetry,’ clucked Dorian. He caught Lavellan’s look and amended, more seriously, ‘I am certain that this is right, you know. If there’s one thing my people love, it’s showing that they’re far cleverer and far more learned than you.’

‘Are you sure you want to go, Dorian?’ asked Cullen, the scarred side of his mouth canting upwards in a half-smile, ‘you will need to travel in plain clothes, with nothing to link you back to the Inquisition, or Tevinter.’

‘Ah, the Lady Herald requires us all to make great sacrifices for our cause,’ said Dorian wryly. ‘Thank you for your concern, Commander, but I think I’ll be fine.’

‘Did you get that down on record, Josephine?’ said Lavellan, ‘Dorian says he’s fine with plain clothes and walking through Fereldan for three weeks in the mud. Could I have a copy of that please? I want it in writing for when he starts complaining.’

‘Of course, Inquisitor,’ said Josephine, eyes twinkling.

Dorian’s look assured Lavellan that if she tried such a thing, the parchment and her bag would both go up in flames.

‘Alright then. How soon can things be made ready?’

‘Give us a day,’ said Cullen, pausing a moment to let Josephine and Leliana nod in agreement. ’We’ll be ready.’

‘I’ll go and inform the others we’re going north,’ said Lavellan. ‘On the trail of a botanist two hundred years dead. Gods help us.’


End file.
